Abomino et Salus
by JusticeHouse
Summary: After Sydney's funeral, Irina and Jack comfort one another and get to the truth about their marriage.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** Not mine, not making any money.

**Chapter 1**

Jack stared, unseeing, into the depths of the ocean as Michael Vaughn dumped Sydney's ashes. Tears ran freely down the younger man's face, while Jack, as stoic as ever, called upon his years of CIA training to compartmentalize his emotions.

Turning with a blank face to answer Dixon's offer of consolation, Jack shook the other man's hand and made a move for his car.

"Jack," Vaughn's voice cracked, "where the hell are you going?"

Jack glared at the hand on his arm then met Vaughn's eyes with an icy gaze. "I'm going home, Mr. Vaughn. There's nothing left for me to do here."

"Even now, you can't be anything more than a cold-hearted bastard, can you?"

"Mr. Vaughn, because you cared for my daughter and are grieving, and _only_ because of that, I will let your comment slide. But you will want to think twice before you _ever_ use that tone with me again. Do I make myself clear?" Jack affixed a steely glare to his face.

"Crystal," Vaughn sneered.

After a quick stop to pick up his favorite Irish whiskey, Jack was on his couch, blindly flipping the channels. Having discarded his jacket, tie, and shoes; unbuttoned his dress shirt and rolled up his sleeves, Jack was now well on his way to getting properly "shit-faced," as Sydney would have said. He smiled wryly. Sydney had been the one to get him to stop drinking so heavily. It wasn't that he'd gotten drunk every night, but he had gone to O'Malley's almost every night for 25 years and it was always to forget what Irina had done to him and what he'd done to Sydney in return.

It was easier to have the alcohol numb his emotions than to cope with the wreckage that was his life, on most days. Right now, though, he'd give anything to be able to grieve for his daughter.

Irina stayed hidden as she watched Jack toss back shot after shot on his way to consuming the entire bottle of whiskey he'd brought home. She watched him as he stared, morosely at Sydney's picture. She watched him as his face became a mask of pain and anger. And she watched him as he began to tear apart his living room.

"God damned CIA! God damned SD-6! Stupid mother fucking Rambaldi! Sloane and Sark are DEAD men! Gonna kill anybody involved in this shit! FUCK!!" With each pronouncement, Jack over turned another piece of furniture or threw something against the wall. With his last cry of anguish, Jack threw a vicious punch into the brick fireplace.

"Son of a bitch!" Jack hadn't actually felt the pain, but had heard something crack in his hand and it stopped him in his tracks.

He made his way upstairs to the master bedroom, off of which was the master bath. He was fully intending on wrapping his hand, which was now bleeding from the knuckles. Instead, after trying unsuccessfully, to bandage his left hand, Jack collapsed on the bed.

He was exhausted, and drunk, but that wasn't the real reason he couldn't wrap his hand. Jack was still suffering the side effects of whatever was in the IV Sloane had given him. His fine motor skills had been damaged in some way; they just weren't working quite the was they should be.

Jack reached for the framed picture of Sydney that sat on his nightstand, the only real, personal touch in the room. Irina crept to the doorway, still silently observing her husband.

"Sydney, I'm so sorry," he murmured. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you. I'm sorry . . . I'm sorry I never told you how much I love you." Jack's voice faded as he drifted off to sleep.

For her part, Irina was stunned. Jack hadn't told their daughter he loved her? She started to mentally berate him, then realized that she was a big part of why Sydney and Jack had been estranged for so many years.

Creeping into the room, she hovered over the bed, staring at the death grip he had on the picture. She let her gaze travel up to Jack's face and noticed the wetness on his cheeks. Obviously, only in the unguarded moments of sleep was he able to truly let go, to show his emotions.

Irina sat on the bed next to Jack, careful not to disturb him. She gathered the bandages and tape, then began to assess the damaged he'd done to himself by gently palpating his hand and wrist to feel for broken bones. Jack groaned softly but didn't wake. Irina was able to determine that there were no broken bones, that it was probably a bad sprain, and proceeded to bandage the injured hand.

Irina was worried, Jack didn't seem capable of taking care of himself. It wasn't just that his dominant hand was now injured; he'd learned to use his right hand to a certain degree, most agents were ambidextrous. But Irina had been watching him, covertly, for the few days that led up to the funeral. Something was off with him, she couldn't quite put her finger on it, though. Suffice it to say that he simply wasn't moving with the grace and ease that she expected of him.

She shook her head and decided that despite the risk she needed to stay and take care of Jack. Sighing, Irina began to remove his remaining clothing. She hesitated when she reached his pants, though. "_What the hell?_" she thought, "_In for a penny, in for a pound. He's gonna be pissed anyway, might was well give him something to be really pissed about._"

Once Jack was down to his boxers, Irina pulled the bedspread down and maneuvered him underneath. She hesitated a moment, then scooted underneath as well. She lifted his left arm, carefully, pressed herself next to his side, then placed his arm around her as she lay her head on his chest.

Irina listened contentedly to Jack's heart beating. She remembered when they would lay like this; it had been almost 25 years since the last time. She felt her eyes fill with tears at the memory, then felt the lids get heavy with sleep.

"_Just for a couple of minutes,_" she told herself.


	2. Chapter 2

Two sensations assailed Jack as he came into consciousness: a pounding in his head and a throbbing in his hand. He vaguely recalled the events of the night before and tried to will away the pain. He slowly became aware of something warm laying next to him; he didn't think he'd brought home a hooker, but it wasn't beyond the realm of possibilities.

When "Laura" had been killed, and he'd found out who and what she really was, he'd nearly drunk himself into oblivion once he'd been released from solitary. And there had been many mornings when he'd awakened to a strange woman in his bed asking for payment. He'd only stopped when Ben Devlin pulled him into his office and told Jack to stop being a selfish asshole; to think about his daughter.

Jack shook himself out of the painful memory and willed himself to look at the woman lying next to him. The long, brunette hair obscured her face, but the body seemed very familiar. He pushed the hair aside, sucked in a breath, and tried to push himself away, realizing belatedly that putting pressure on his left had was _not_ a good idea.

"Shit!" he yelped.

Irina awoke with a start, wondering where she was for a moment. The she realized that her husband was fairly scrambling to get away from her.

"Jack," she started.

"What the hell are you doing here, Irina?" he demanded.

"Jack," she began again, "My contacts found me and told me about Sydney. I wanted to be here for you . . ."

"Be here for me? You have got to be kidding!" Jack had managed to extricate himself from the bedclothes. "That is god damned hysterical coming from the woman who abandoned her husband and daughter, twice! Who the fuck do you think you are, coming here?"

Irina flinched at the harshness in his voice, but tried to explain her actions. "Jack, you passed out on the bed after punching a brick wall! I wanted to make sure you were all right."

"Any particular reason you felt the need to strip me and share my bed?"

"You reeked of alcohol. Besides, it's not like I haven't seen it all before," Irina's attempt at levity fell flat and Jack stood, waiting for her to explain why she had shared his bed.

"I just wanted to be near you. To . . . to share in the grief."

"You don't get that right! Sydney's mother died in a car wreck! She had to raise herself because of what you did! And now you want to 'share our grief?!' What made you think you deserve that right?"

"She was my daughter, too, Jack."

They stared at each other for long moments; each trying to seek the other across years of emotional abuse and mistrust.

Irina spoke first, "I'm going to make us some breakfast. What would you like?"

"Just coffee. Uh, black . . . please."

"OK. Do you think you can manage showering and dressing?"

"Yeah. I'll be down soon."


	3. Chapter 3

Jack padded downstairs barefoot, feeling much better. He'd managed to shower and dress himself with minimal problems. He had opted to forego his shave and his button-down shirt was hanging open. He was assailed by the scent of bacon, eggs, pancakes, and coffee as he entered the kitchen.

"What _is_ all this?" he asked.

Irina turned to answer, but her breath was caught in her throat as she looked at him. He still had a haunted look in his eyes, but standing there in the mid-morning sun, with a five o'clock shadow, bare feet and open shirt, he was still able to make her heart do back flips at the sight of him. At 55, he was the most unassumingly sexy man she'd ever met.

"Irina?"

She'd been caught staring and fumbled for a response. But Jack kindly filled the silence.

"I can do many things right-handed. Alas, shaving is not one of them, nor is buttoning a shirt. Would you mind giving me a hand with it?" he asked, chagrinned. "I'll have to do without the shave until my hand heals."

Irina was confused for a moment then realized he must have thought his normally clean-shaven face was why she was staring.

"I could do that for you, later, if you'd like. Unless you don't trust me not to slit your throat," she baited as she did up the shirt.

"Uh, we'll see," he said noncommittally, backing away. "You never answered my question: What's with the food?"

"I know you haven't had a real meal since Dixon brought you dinner a couple of days ago and I figured . . . shit."

"You've been spying on me?"

"Not ex . . ."

"How long?"

"Three days."

"Son of a bitch!"

"I got the intel on Sydney's death the morning after the fire. I wasn't going to come, but I was worried about you."

Jack frowned, "You were working with Sloane. Why do you care what happens to me at all?"

"I didn't know he was going to _kidnap_ you, let alone hook you up to that IV! Whether you believe me or not, I do still care about you!"

"Do you know what was in that IV?"

"No. I simply assumed it was a sedative or sodium pentathol. Why?"

"Nothing," Jack averted his eyes.

"Jack, what is it you're not telling me?" Then it hit her; Irina knew what had been bothering her about him for the last few days. "What did the IV do to you, Jack?"

"NOTHING!" he repeated, more forcefully this time, ending the discussion. He grabbed a plate from the cupboard and began piling food on it, in essence admitting that he was as hungry as Irina had assumed.

He stood at the counter, trying to get his fingers to remember how to hold the fork; it was doubly hard since he'd taught himself as an adult to use his right hand. The damned utensil didn't want to cooperate and as his frustration increased, his appetite decreased. He finally gave in and held the fork as a child would in order to eat before the food got cold.  
Irina came over and gently placed her hand on his, willing him to meet her eyes. When he did, she could see the pain and embarrassment it was causing him.

"Tell me."

Jack hesitated before giving in, "Whatever was in the damned IV did something to how my cerebellum is working, this in turn has affected my motor skills, basically the smaller movements. The doctors said it was just a matter of relearning some skills, but my right hand isn't as strong my left. So you see, I have the coordination of a five-year-old," dark humor colored his words.

"Let me help you. Please," she added when he hesitated again.

Reluctantly, he nodded. Sitting at the table together, she helped him grip the fork and they finished their breakfasts in, if not a companionable silence, then a fairly relaxed one.


	4. Chapter 4

After eating and cleaning the kitchen with Irina, Jack headed to living room to survey the damage he'd done. "Damn it!" He stood for a moment, not sure where to begin. He didn't realize that Irina had come up beside him until she laid a hand on his back. It felt warm through the thin cotton of his shirt. Jack willed himself not to react; the last time he'd let his guard down with her, she'd managed to escape from federal custody.

Irina felt Jack's muscles tense as she touched him. But other than that, she saw no other sign of his acknowledging her presence. "Jack?"

"What?" he gritted out.

She opened her mouth to say . . . _What? That she wanted to comfort him? Take care of him? That she was sorry?_ Several thoughts ran through her mind. Instead she asked, "Where's your vacuum?"

Jack looked at her, dubiously.

"We need to clean up this room. That involves the use of a vacuum cleaner."

"Hall closet," he responded.

When Irina came back to the living room, Jack was on his hands and knees cleaning up the glass from the broken pictures and lamps. They cleared the room of the rest of the debris without speaking. Then Jack retired to the den to brood.

He couldn't understand what Irina was doing. There was no reason for her to be there; she didn't care about Sydney, much less him. So what was she after?

Irina went to the kitchen to plan for dinner. She knew what Jack must have been feeling and actually understood it. But that didn't keep it from hurting. She was grieving for Sydney, too. There was no one else who could understand what she was going through like Jack could. And yet, he was closeting himself away from her, closing off all of his emotions. And they had _yet_ to discuss their mutual loss.

Irina peeled potatoes and put them in a pot to boil, then made a marinade for the steaks she found in the freezer. Then she wandered the house, cleaning and straightening as she went, trying desperately to keep herself busy. If she didn't have time to think, she could ignore the gnawing ache in her heart.

She was in the middle of making the bed she and Jack had recently shared when she realized tears were streaming down her face. Angrily, Irina wiped at her face; she couldn't afford to be weak, not in the same house as her husband. But it wasn't long before she lost the battle with her emotions and she sank down onto Jack's side of the bed. She inhaled his scent as she sobbed herself to sleep.

Several hours later, Jack exited his den feeling as though he'd accomplished something. He'd contacted as many of his informants as had been feasible, asking them to look into Sydney's disappearance, for that was how he was thinking of it. Nothing about that night had really made sense to him; it all seemed too neat.

And now it was possible that his instincts had been correct: One of his contacts had heard of a new cell of rogue agents that had just begun to form, The Covenant, and they were apparently obsessed with Rambaldi as well. Evidently, one of the members had been seen near Sydney's apartment several times in the few weeks that led up to the fire. And only yesterday this same agent had been spotted in County Clare in Ireland, in the company of a woman who matched his daughter's description.

For some reason, Jack felt an overwhelming urge to share this piece of good news with Irina. After searching the lower level of the house and finding nothing but the potatoes simmering, he headed upstairs. There he found her, sleeping fitfully on his bed, clutching his pillow, with tears still staining her face.  
Remembering that startling Irina out of a sound sleep was hazardous to one's health, Jack sat down slowly on the bed and whispered, "Irina?"

She only groaned and curled up even further into his pillow. Jack gently rubbed her shoulder and said again, louder this time, "Irina? Time to wake up." Jack trailed his hand down to the small of her back then back up to her shoulders. That's when she reacted. Fortunately, it was his _good_ hand that Irina grabbed and bent backward.

"Son of a bitch!"

Irina realized where she was and who's hand she was gripping when she heard his voice. "Oh, God! Jack! I'm so sorry!"

"Are you trying to leave me completely helpless?"

"I'm sorry! I thought I was back . . ." Irina trailed off, not wanting to give any leverage away.

"Back where?"

"Nowhere."

"Bull! Where?" Jack pressed her.

"You know where. Kashmir. The prison. You know I was held there after they extracted me."

"For debriefing and repatriation."

Irina pushed him away saying, "You are so dense, Jack! You can't even imagine that my life was anything more than blind devotion to 'Mother Russia!'"

"Wasn't it?"

"You don't have a clue what my life was life after they took me away from you! It was a living _hell_!"

"You seemed to do all right for yourself," he said, sarcastically.

"Nothing I can say will ever convince you, will it?" She was silent a moment. "What did you want?"

For a second, Jack didn't understand the question. "Oh! One of my contacts has a lead on Sydney's whereabouts."


	5. Chapter 5

"What kind of sick joke are you trying to play, Jack? Sydney is dead."

"I've never believed that. It was too convenient, that's why I sent out feelers. If I wanted to cause chaos within a division of the CIA, this would be exactly the way I would do it! Two top agents are affected by Sydney's 'death' and we would be consumed by it, unable to focus on our work. I can't let that happen."

"If you were so convinced our daughter was alive, why did you drink yourself into oblivion last night? Why were you crying in your sleep?"

"I was angry that I wasn't able to protect her. I was afr . . . Why the hell am I justifying my emotions to a woman who obviously has none?" Jack ran his fingers through his hair and got up to leave the room, embarrassed that she'd seen him so vulnerable.

Irina stopped him by grabbing his arm. "You are _not_ the only one hurting, Jack. I love . . . loved . . . love Sydney as much as you do," she stopped at the dark look he gave her but continued anyway, "If she's alive and in danger, I want to help find her."

She could see he wasn't ready to give her the benefit of the doubt or the details his informant had relayed.

"When you're ready to speak, civilly, I'll be in the kitchen getting dinner ready. Mashed potatoes, steak, and rolls, if you're interested." Irina was the one to walk from the room this time.

Jack sat down heavily on the bed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Last night's activities and his lack of sleep over the past week were finally catching up with him. He knew he had a hard time thinking thing through, logically, when it came to Irina and that would have to have _the_ discussion. But it wasn't going to be tonight. Tonight, they would try to get through a meal without tears, yelling, or physical violence.

After getting some Advil for his headache, Jack made his way to the kitchen. He tried to prepare himself to deal with Irina, but things were too complicated, emotionally, to make that easy. Especially when she was doing all those domestic things he remembered Laura doing.

When he saw her there, grilling the steaks, Jack was reminded of another meal, just after they'd married. He'd come home from a tough mission pretty well beat up. Laura had been in the middle of making dinner, but had dropped everything when she'd gotten a look at his split lip and black eye.

Now she looked at him with the compassion of all those years ago. Yet the tone with which she spoke belied the expression. "You look like hell, Jack."

"Thanks a lot. Listen, do you want to hear what my informant had to say?"

"Of course I do. The steaks will be ready in just a few minutes . . . medium rare, right?" He nodded. "Why don't you set the table so we can talk and eat?"

At the table, Irina helped him with grip the fork. Then, over a delectable meal, Jack outlined what he'd learned so far. He included his own suspicions that Arvin Sloane was somehow involved.

"Sydney is a superb agent. Arvin has always said so; he's thought of her as his own daughter and felt betrayed when he realized that she was a double agent for the CIA. It's possible he wants to turn her against you; it would only be fitting," Irina thought out loud.

"Which means we need to find Sydney as soon as possible!"

"Jack, we need to think this through logically. How would you and I be able to get into a Covenant stronghold? Do we even know that they're still in Dublin? Is it even Sydney? You're a game theorist, Jack! Theorize!"

He allowed himself a small smile before answering, "I'm waiting on more intel before moving in. I've got people surveilling the compound in Dublin. But we must be ready to move when we get what we need. I'm not letting Arvin Sloane torture my daughter!"

"_Our_ daughter," Irina reminded him. "Besides which, you are not going anywhere until you are fully healed."

"And I suppose you're going to see to that?"

"By whatever means necessary. Sydney would not want you killing yourself in order to save her."

Jack's face hardened once again. "Your motherhood is a biological fact only. Don't presume that you somehow know Sydney's mind."

"One doesn't have to be related to Sydney to see how much she loves you, Jack."

He was silent a moment, mulling it over. Then he got up with his plate. "Thank you for dinner, Irina. I'll clean up the kitchen. Why don't you go relax?" It amazed him how quickly he had reverted back to their old patterns from when they were married.

Realizing that Jack had cut himself off once again, Irina accepted his offer and asked, "Do you mind if I use your shower?"

He blinked once, then nodded his acquiescence. He watched her walk up the stairs and wondered if she had anything to change into. "_Oh well,_" he thought, "_not really my problem._"

After cleaning up the kitchen once again, Jack went upstairs to prepare the guest bedroom for Irina. He made sure that he was back in his own room by the time she was finished, just in case she didn't have any spare clothes. He heard her leave the bathroom and walk past his door. She poked her head in, thankfully wearing a bathrobe.

Irina was in a much better mood, now that she was clean and had had the tension drain from her body into the hot water. She _had_ been fully intending on teasing Jack about the sleeping arrangements, but when she looked in on him, he looked exhausted stretched out on the bed.

"I'm going to turn in. Do you need anything?"

"It's early Irina. Are you sure?"

"Yes. I'll get a book from the den in a few minutes; that should help. Do you need anything?" she repeated.

"I'm fine," he answered and rolled over.

Irina sat in the guest bedroom and stared at the pages of the book without actually reading the words. After about an hour, she could stand it no longer and made her way back to Jack's room. She looked at him for a moment. He was sleeping, but was fitful. Irina hesitated for half a second then slid in next to bed next to him.

"What're you doing," Jack mumbled, sleepily.

"I couldn't sleep. I wanted to be with you."

"M'kay," he was back in dreamland, sleeping peacefully this time.


	6. Chapter 6

Jack was only slightly surprised to find Irina pressed up against his back the next morning. He was, however, surprised to realize that he was enjoying it; was comforted by it, even a little aroused by her hand on his chest and her breasts pressed against his back. He tried to inch away fro her, angry at his reaction to her.

"I'm already awake, Jack."

"Why are you in my bed . . . again?" he asked, pointed, rolling over to face her.

"I told you last night. Besides I haven't slept as well as I did the last two nights in . . . almost thirty years."

"Your conscience been keeping you up, Irina?"

"Jack . . ." she began, "You know what, I'm not going to bother. I'm wrong no matter what I say."

He was quiet a moment, then, "I'm sorry. Let's call a truce while we look for Sydney."

"We need to talk about our marriage."

"But not today."

The next several days were fairly repetitive. Jack would get intel from his contacts about The Covenant and Sydney, he and Irina would strategize for several hours, and Irina would cook for both of them. Jack also called Dixon to tell him that he'd be taking some bereavement time and he'd make contact when he was ready to come back to work.

Nights were the same as well. Irina would have the intention of staying in her room, but somehow always managed to end up in Jack's bed. He never questioned it, just accepted her presence, and the comfort it brought.

About five days after the funeral, Irina could stand it no longer. "When are you going to let me shave you?" she asked at breakfast.

Jack looked up, surprised at her outburst. He scratched his cheek and said, mildly, "I was thinking about keeping it." He knew how much she disliked facial hair and waited for her reaction.

"Don't you _dare_! I will duct tape you to a chair and shave that . . . thing off your face if I have to!"

He couldn't keep a straight face looking at the outrage written on hers. He grinned and replied, "No duct tape necessary. Just shaving cream and a razor."

Irina burst out laughing and Jack joined in, lightly. She was amazed at how young he looked when he was relaxed; she wished he would laugh more often, like when they were first married.

"So?"

"What?" she asked.

"Are you going to get rid of this pain in the ass beard or what?"

"You're serious?"

"You've done it before."

"But that was when . . ."

"I know," he said, crossly, her reminder doing nothing for his good mood, "but I need to feel my face again. Will you just get the supplies, please?"

Irina complied and within minutes had Jack lathered up. He had taken his shirt off to keep the foam from ruining it. She leaned in close to make sure she didn't miss a single spot. She was enjoying being this close to him again, and it was all she could do to keep herself from jumping him right there in the kitchen. For his part, Jack closed his eyes to keep himself from staring into her eyes and remembering their marriage. But all he could see were the times they kissed and held each other and made love. The only sound for several minutes was the scrape of the blade against his skin, until she broke the silence.

"When did you start hating me?"

It took all of Jack's control not to react, outwardly, to the question. Calmly, he replied with a question of his own, "Did you ever love me?"


	7. Chapter 7

Irina hesitated just slightly before taking her next stroke against his skin. She was silent for several moments, so long that Jack assumed they were at an impasse.

"When we first met," she began, startling him, "I thought you were handsome . . . a little behind the times, fashion-wise," she smiled wistfully. "But I liked the corduroy and tie thing you had going. I wasn't supposed to like you. You were supposed to be a target and nothing more.

You have to understand that we were fed propaganda about the U.S. and its capitalist ways. I thought I was being patriotic when I accepted the mission to seduce you."

"So it was all an act?"

"You misunderstand me. I was attracted to you from the start," Irina admitted. "You're finished. Can we move this conversation elsewhere?"

The nonsequitur caught Jack off guard. He felt his face and thanked her, enjoying the smoothness of his face after so many days of growth. They moved to the living room, where Irina continued her explanation of their life together.

"When I got to know you, I realized that you were smart, and funny, and easy to love, despite the front you usually put up. And the longer I lived in the U.S., the more I realized that I loved the country and I loved you," she stopped at his expression of disbelief.

"It's true, Jack. Oh, I tried to fight it; I had to report to Cuveé still. But I loved our life, I didn't want to go back to the KGB. So I allowed myself to get pregnant in order to buy more time with you."

"Why did you leave us?" Jack asked quietly.

"After Sydney was born, I began to give the KGB intel that was old or untraceable. By the time our daughter was five years old, my handlers realized what was happening. I plead innocent of course, but Cuveé told me that I would be watched more closely. That's where Bentley Calder came in.

The following year I was told I was to be extracted. I resisted; I wanted to stay with my husband and daughter, both whom I loved. But Cuveé threatened to kill you! I couldn't bear the thought!"

Jack was struggling with his rioting emotions. He had been so in love with Laura that the deception had very nearly killed him and almost permanently destroyed his relationship with Sydney.

"It's a pretty picture you paint. A story that I have _no way_ of proving," anger colored his words.

"You think I was just accepted back into the KGB to continue working for them? I told you before, I was held in Kashmir! I was a prisoner for two _years_. They beat me, tortured me, they . . . they . . .," Irina was unable to continue, tears were threatening to fall.

"What did they do, Irina?" Jack wasn't sure he really wanted to know.

"They RAPED ME, you idiot!"

There was a long silence as they each contemplated her revelation. Finally, Jack spoke.


	8. Chapter 8

"I'm so sorry. I had no idea . . ."

"That's right, you didn't! You assumed that I was a cold-hearted Russian bitch who had no qualms about leaving a husband and child behind. You assumed that the KGB was thrilled to have me back. You assumed _wrong_! They used any means available to make sure I hadn't given away any national secrets and to make sure I wouldn't screw up any future assignments. They only way I made it through those two years was by concentrating on my love for you."

Jack made a move toward her, wanted to take her in his arms, to comfort her in some way. She waved him away, so instead he spoke.

"I never hated you. I hated what you did to Sydney and to me. I realized that after the mission in Kashmir.

I was angry and betrayed. You were the only I had ever truly shared myself with. You knew me, the real me, the one that I had to compartmentalize in order to work for the CIA. It tore me apart when you . . . when _Laura_ died. And then to be labeled a suspected traitor and thrown into solitary!

Jesus, Irina, it nearly killed me! I missed Sydney so much! It would have been a comfort to me to be with her and there was no way for me to console her either. She lost both parents within a span of six months!"

Irina broke in with, "What happened when you were released? Why didn't you try to repair your relationship with Sydney?"

"As much as I missed her, I couldn't, WOULDN'T, let her go through what I did. But understand this: I loved her dearly and it cut me to the quick to cut her off emotionally. And I could see how much it hurt her; to the day of her disappearance, I could see the pain that lingered in her eyes.

When you came back into our lives, all I wanted to do was protect Sydney from being hurt by you."

"I would never hurt her! I only tried to help her. What about all the intel I provided that saved her from being exposed as a double agent?"

"In retrospect, I realize that is true. But you left us _again_! And you were working for Arvin Sloane, of all people!"

Irina didn't miss the use of the word 'us.' She had known that whatever Sloane was planning would require that she go back to working with him and Sark. But she had been trying to protect her husband and daughter by doing just that and told him so.

"The Rambaldi artifacts are extremely dangerous in the wrong hands, Jack! You know that! If Sloane ever finds out that Sydney is The Chosen One, there is no telling what he would do to her. I was trying to prevent that discovery; the CIA would have only trusted my intel for a finite period of time. I needed to be on the inside. And now Arvin is going to be quite suspicious of me for my long absence."

"You didn't tell him you were leaving?"

"No. And I'm not going back. No protests, Jack. I can work better and faster without those two fools watching me."

"But why didn't you tell me you were leaving? I thought we had come to an understanding; I would have helped you!"

"Jack, you would have assumed that I was betraying you again," Irina paused. "Do you remember that night in Panama?"

He looked uncomfortable as he said, "Of course."


	9. Chapter 9

**Panama, Six Months Earlier**

"_We need to be up early."_

"_Yes."_

"_We should get to bed."_

"_Yeah, we should."_

_Their heads were only inches apart and so Jack was irresistibly drawn to close the distance. The kiss was full of pent up passion, anger, and frustration, 25 years worth. But it wasn't long before he pulled away._

"_I can't do this! You're **not** Laura!_

"_But I am! When we were alone, truly alone you saw the real me. My love for you was not a contrivance. Come to bed with me, Jack. I'll prove it to you. Please, just trust me," she pulled him back down onto the bed with her._

_Irina placed a hand inside the open neck of his shirt and continued kissing him, opening her mouth to allow his tongue entrance. When Jack palmed her breast, she let out a low moan. She became bolder, slipping her hand down to the front of his pants, opening them, and caressing the hard flesh she found there._

"_Jack, please! I want you!"_

_Jack groaned and managed to extract himself from her arms. It had finally penetrated his fogged brain that she had asked him to trust. He had done that once before and look where it had gotten him. He just couldn't risk putting his faith in her again. He was too afraid she'd betray him to allow her back in. Besides, he'd placed a passive transmitter in her wine._

"_I can't do this," he repeated, "You are **not** my wife!"_

"_But you **are** my husband; I've never felt any differently. I only want to take care of you and Sydney. I will do anything to protect you, even if it means sacrificing my life."_

"_I'll believe it when I see your dead body," cynicism painted his words._

_Irina was stung. "Fine. I suggest we get to bed then."_

Jack closed his eyes and cursed at the memory, "Shit."


	10. Chapter 10

"So you see why I didn't feel as though I could confide in you."

"How could you expect me to trust you after everything you've done? My life turned into a living hell because of you. Do you understand how much I loved you? You were my _life_, you and Sydney. And in the blink of an eye it was all gone!"

Irina walked away and stopped with her back to him as she stood in the doorway. Tears had filled her eyes at the pain in Jack's voice. When she'd turned herself into the CIA, she had known that she would have to face him at some point. But she had been unprepared for the changes she'd seen in him, that permeated his being. Gone was the easy smile, the sense of well-being, the light in his beautiful brown eyes. And she had been the one to do it to him.

"Jack, I never thought about how my extraction would affect the rest of your life beyond the fact that you _would_ live. As much as it hurt to think it, I assumed that you would eventually fall in love again and remarry, give Sydney a mother."

"How could I fall in love again when you effectively ripped my heart out?"

"I'm sorry, Jack. I only wanted to protect you. I loved you too much to let you die," her tears began to fall in earnest. "I _still_ love you!"

Jack was stunned. He had assumed that any feelings Irina might have had for him would have disapated over the years they had spent apart. Yet there was a tiny piece of his heart that was thrilled at her revelation. A little shakily, he got up and went over to her. He hesitated only a moment, then put his arms around her.

Irina struggled for a second. "Don't!" she said. "Leave me alone!"

"We both been alone for so long. Just . . . shhh," he murmured in her ear.

They stayed like that for several minutes, drinking in each other's warmth. Then, inexplicably, Jack placed a light kiss on her neck, right where it met her shoulder. Without saying anything, Irina turned to face him; she studied him, confused.

"Jack?" she questioned, at last.

His only response was to close the distance between their lips. The kiss was nothing like the one in Panama. This one was gentle, tentative, almost chaste. It reminded Irina of the first time they'd kissed, only a week after they'd met, when they were still getting to know one another. It wasn't enough for her; she opened her mouth to deepen the kiss, letting her tongue glide along his lips.

Jack moaned his approval and began to mimic her actions. It was several minutes later before they came up for air. She cupped his now smooth cheek, caressing it lightly.

"Why?" she asked, simply.

He wiped away her remaining tears before answering. "I never could stand to see you cry," he admitted.

They held one another for a few more minutes when Irina noticed the lengthening shadows. The pinks and purples of the sky indicating the closeness of the evening hours.

"We should get something to eat," she suggested, "And continue once we're refreshed.

His stomach growled and he chuckled when hers joined in. "I'll order some Chinese."


	11. Chapter 11

Over dinner, all Irina could do was stare at Jack's hands; she'd always found them both fascinating and sexy. They were so big, yet they could be dexterous and gentle. After the kiss they'd shared, she longed to feel his hands on her body. But she wasn't quite sure where the two of them stood, what exactly their relationship was. She decided to ask.

"Where to we go from here?"

Jack stopped with his chopsticks halfway to his mouth. "What do you mean?"

"Don't play dumb, Jack!"

"I'm not!"

"For a man with a 137 IQ you can be awfully dense. I'm referring to our relationship."

"What do you want it to be?" he countered.

"I want to be your wife, in every sense of the word. And it any way we can work it out. I . . . love . . . you."

"I want that, too," he admitted, softly. "But I don't know how to move forward. I haven't been with another woman since we were married; not really, not for the right reasons."

It was Irina's turn to be astonished. She responded in kind, "Then we'll have to relearn how to be with each other. I haven't been with anyone either, not since the prison." She took his uninjured hand, "Let's go upstairs."

"Are you sure?"

"The real question is: Are you?"

Without answering, Jack stood up and led Irina to his bedroom. He sat her down on the bed and knelt before her, almost in supplication.

"God, you're beautiful. I . . . you . . ." Jack's breath hitched and all of a sudden he felt his throat tighten up. "Irina," he breathed. He lay his head in her lap and put his arms around her middle.

She didn't know what to make of him. He was sobbing in her arms and she couldn't quite figure out why. "Jack, what is it? Shh, you can tell me, darling."

"I love you," he managed to get out.

Irina realized that Jack was finally releasing all the pent up emotions of the last few day and, more importantly, that last thirty years. From what she understood, Jack had been emotionally impotent; it had been self-imposed, but never the less.

"Let it out my love. It's alright, I'm here."

Jack needed to grieve for the life he had lost and Irina was allowing him to do so. He had never been able to express how much he had been hurt by everything that had been done to him. After solitary, he'd been expected to go back to work and back to caring for Sydney without skipping a beat. The only way to do it was to compartmentalize, to the extreme.

As Jack spent himself crying, Irina ran her fingers through his hair, murmuring nonsense words. There wasn't much else she could think of to comfort him.

Eventually he looked up at her. "You must think I'm a complete ass."

"Not at all," she used her thumbs to wipe away the lingering wetness on his cheeks. "I spent the first couple of months in Kashmir sobbing myself to sleep. You're just a few decades behind."

He leaned up to kiss her. "I meant what I said," he paused, "I love you." Jack began to unbutton Irina's shirt, his knuckles brushing her nipples. He pushed the shirt off her should and stood up, kissing her again.

"I want you," he said when he at last broke away for air.

"You have me," she replied, simply.

He pulled his shirt off then stretched out on the bed, taking Irina with him. Jack feathered his hands up her torso until he reached the front clasp of her bra. An outbreak of goosebumps made her shiver; she leaned up to take his mouth in another searing kiss.

Once the bra was opened, Jack placed his mouth over one nipple and laved his tongue across it; the other he rolled in his fingers. To show how much she appreciated it, Irina grasped his erection through his trousers.

"Happy to see me?" she teased.

"You have no idea."

She began to unbuckle and unzip his jeans, shoving them down his legs. He returned the favor, taking her underwear with it. Jack kissed a path down to the dark triangle of curls at the apex of her thighs. He dipped his fingers between her legs and found her wet and ready. He teased her clit with his fingers before replacing them with his mouth.

"Oh, God," she gasped as she climaxed. "Jack . . . please."

He crawled up and touched his lips to hers, feeling ready to explode. Irina slipped her hand inside his boxers, squeezing him.

"Damn it, Irina, I'm gonna come in my shorts if you don't stop. I want to be inside you when that happens."

She helped him shimmy out of his boxers and led him to her entrance. They cried out simultaneously as her heat enveloped him. He thrust slowly, wanting to savor the moment as well as the sensations. She arched into his movements, urging him on by grabbing his butt. It was all the encouragement he needed to pick up his pace.

"Come for me Jack," Irina breathed.

"Want to come with you," Jack slipped his finger between them, searching for her clit. He stroked her furiously as he reached his peak. As he exploded inside her, Irina experienced her second orgasm of the night.

"God, Irina!" he cried out. Jack looked up at her, expecting to see a look of ecstasy. Instead, he saw tears streaming down her face. "Did I hurt you? What's wrong?" he asked anxiously.

"Nothing," she laughed through her tears, "You called _my_ name."


	12. Chapter 12

Jack and Irina spend the remainder of the week strategizing during the day and making love through the night. Neither wanted to discuss the inevitable, her leaving, so they avoided the subject all together. That is until Sunday morning as Irina snuggled into Jack's side, holding him desperately.

"I have to leave, Jack," she said regretfully.

"I know," he whispered back.

"We can pool our resources in order to speed the search for Sydney."

"How do you propose we do so? We can't be seen together; we've taken enough of a chance these last several days. I won't have you risk your life anymore!"

"I owe you that much and more. Let me finish," she said as he opened his mouth to protest. "We can contact each other through secure email and instant messages."

"Our screen names will have to be something innocuous." His agreement to the plan was surprisingly quick, but he didn't want to have this conversation in the first place. It hurt too much to lose her again.

"What do you suggest, Jack?"

"Do you remember our honeymoon?"

Irina frowned trying to figure out what he was getting at. When it dawned on her, she laughed. "Dueling composers!?!"

"You need to admit, once and for all, Mozart is the better composer."

"When you admit that Handel's _Messiah_ is unsurpassed in classical compositions."

"I believe we've had this conversation before. And I was the clear winner of the debate."

"Oh really?" Irina straddled his chest. She ran her fingers through his hair. It must have been awhile since he'd had it cut; it was long and wavy, the way she liked it. "You should keep your hair like this. It makes you look even sexier."

"Flattery will get you almost everywhere. But don't change the subject."

Instead of responding, she began tickling him, something they done early in their marriage. When arguments got too heated, one would start tickling the other. Whoever cried 'uncle' had to admit they were wrong. Jack's resistance was low and it wasn't long before he was laughing, a real, honest-to-goodness laugh and yelling, "Alright, I give!"

Irina rolled off and said, "I love your laugh. You must keep laughter in your life."

"I haven't had much to laugh about."

"I know. I'm sorry."

They spent the rest of the day wrapped in each other's arms. There was no new intel on Sydney and they knew they had to get into the field before all the leads dried up. Jack knew it would be several weeks before he'd be allowed on active duty, but he would have access to the CIA computers.

Late that night, as Jack continued to sleep, Irina slipped out of bed. She collected her things, placed a note for him on the nightstand, whispered, "Good-bye for now, my love," then exited into the darkness.

Jack wasn't really sleeping; he had had a feeling she would leave tonight. He had wanted to stop her, but knew it was better this way. As he heard the front door slam, he opened his eyes to find his vision blurred by tears. He made out a paper propped against the lamp. He turned on the light, unfolded the note, and began to read:

_My dearest Jack,_

_Please don't be angry with me for not saying good-bye in person. It pains me enough to leave as it is. I feel as though I'm abandoning you all over again._

_I am so glad we found each other once more. My heart has been heavy with grief all these years without you. Reconnecting with you and our love has lifted that mantle._

_No matter what happens, know this: I love you. I always have and always will._

_Yours Forever,_

_Irina_

_P.S. I think these screen names are appropriate: **Mozart182** for you and **Handel4me** for me. I will contact you in one week with instructions to get to a secure web address._

_Don't give up hope. We will find Sydney._

"Stay safe, my love," Jack whispered to the empty night.

**Epilogue**

A year to the day of Sydney's disappearance, Irina contacted Jack as per their usual means. She had no intel to share, just an overwhelming urge to speak with him. He wasn't in the chat room, but she found an email in the secure mailbox from him.

_Have been compromised. Will make contact when safe. Keep up the search and remember I love you._

A week later, Irina's American contacts informed her that he'd been placed in solitary once more. "Then it's up to me," she thought. "I can't let his sacrifice be in vain. For Jack's sake, I must find Sydney."


End file.
